


Sake

by kinsale_42



Series: McHanzo [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, First Dates, First Kiss, Karaoke, King's Row (Overwatch), M/M, Reminders of home, Secret Crush, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinsale_42/pseuds/kinsale_42
Summary: Hanzo's not sure what's come over him when he spontaneously attempts to compliment Jesse McCree after their team successfully completes a mission in King's Row. Jesse rewards his effort with a seemingly casual invitation out for a drink at a little place he's heard might be amenable to Hanzo's interests.





	Sake

“McCree,” said Hanzo. He hadn’t meant to say anything, but they were the last in the room, the last to stow their gear after the completion of the three days’ mission. The gunslinger stopped in the doorway and turned back.

“Jesse,” Hanzo began again, before he could be admonished for being too formal. “Nice work today. You have…” Grace? Talent? Skill? From his sniper’s perch, he had watched as McCree demonstrated all of these. But he couldn’t just say that, could he? “...excellent reflexes,” he finished lamely.

“Why...thank you, partner,” McCree drawled. “You provide pretty good cover, yourself. Always nice to see a job done well, and I have to say, you're pretty handy with that bow.” He adjusted his hat, and then, as if the idea had just occurred to him, he asked, “Say, would you be interested in getting a drink before calling it a night? I’ve heard tell of a place that might just be right up your alley.”

Hanzo’s head tilted slightly as he considered the offer. He did not like the noise and chaos of a crowded bar, but he had been drawn to the cowboy’s charisma for some time. This was his chance to get closer. He decided to take the gamble that the experience would be worth it. At least there would be liquor to smooth the sharp edges of his awareness.

“Yes, I would like a drink,” he replied, brief and to the point, as ever. He checked that his weapon case was secure, and picked up his jacket. He thought he could see the hint of a smile on Jesse’s face.

McCree turned south when they reached the sidewalk outside the clandestine operations facility, a building that looked just like every other house on the quiet road a block off the King’s Row high street.

“It should only be about a quarter mile away, just the other side of the main drag. So I've been told," he said. He glanced briefly at the man who walked beside him, once again fascinated by the sense of stillness Hanzo displayed, even in motion. It was not the stillness of peace, rather the tightly restrained energy of a coiled dragon. Jesse found himself wondering once again what sort of treasure this dragon was guarding.

The gunslinger led the way across the road and down a side street, the glow from the bar's flashing sign lighting up the pavement. As they stepped inside, Hanzo automatically assessed the environment. Along the wall to the left was a long bar, with the heavy oaken cabinetry seen in many a cozy English pub. In contrast, the rounded booths on the opposite wall were upholstered in fabric like ornamented silk in appearance, and lit by muted rice paper lanterns. A few tables filled the gap between, and beyond them, the back end of the bar featured a tiny stage complete with a mirror ball and a microphone. He located the passageway that led to the kitchen door and the restrooms before realizing that his companion had already slid into one of the booths and was waiting for him to sit down.

"Jesse," he whispered as he did so, his eyes fixed on the miniscule stage. "This...is a karaoke bar."

A slow grin stretched across McCree's face. "Why yes, so it is."

"I do not sing," said Hanzo. "Why would you think this place would suit me?" His eyes roamed over the other patrons. The establishment was maybe half full, thirty or so other souls. No one was singing. Yet. It was still early.

"It's the only place in the neighborhood that serves sake," said Jesse, as a server glided over to take their order. "So I've been told."

"Who is telling you these things?" Hanzo asked, perplexed at the obfuscation.

"Ohhhh, I have my sources." And with that, Jesse turned his attention to the server, and Hanzo was forced to do the same.

He was reminded immediately of a girl he'd known back home, twenty years ago now. The shape of her face and the cascade of her hair were so similar that he did a double-take. But as soon as she spoke, the memory was dispelled. Her voice was pure North London.

"What can I get you?" Her eyes moved between Hanzo and Jesse.

The gunslinger spoke first. "Sake for my friend here," he said, tipping his brow to Hanzo. "And would you perchance stock any rye whiskey?"

The young woman's face displayed that special variety of not-really-sincere customer service apology. "I'm sorry, no. We have a few different bourbons, some Canadian whiskey, and of course Irish and a number of single malts."

McCree actually did look a little disappointed. "Well then, I'll have a dram of..." He squinted as he tried to read the bottle labels behind the bar from across the room. "Laphroaig. I always say, may as well drink your smoke if you can't smoke indoors. With water," he added, and the server nodded and glided off.

"My," Jesse observed, "it seems we beat the rush."

Hanzo turned his head to see a group of energetic younger folks stream in the door and fill the tables and barstools nearest the stage. The noise level increased substantially, and Hanzo cringed inwardly. He was grateful to see their server--barmaid, he supposed she was called here--returning already with their drinks. She first placed the glass of scotch and water before the cowboy, then the tiny sake cup in front of the assassin. Hanzo lifted the cup with one hand and supported it from beneath with the other as the young woman filled it from a stoneware flask. When it was full, she set the flask on the table, and bowed slightly as she stepped away. Hanzo inclined his head in tacit thanks, while Jesse thanked her aloud.

The music started just after they had raised their glasses to each other and taken their first sips. Conversation was now virtually impossible, so McCree slid around the circular booth to sit next to Hanzo and get a better view of the stage. Hanzo took another swift drink, emptying the tiny cup. He refilled it from the flask as the fire of the wine masked the flush of excitement he felt from being so close to the loose-limbed cowboy. He wished he could appear as relaxed as McCree looked. Jesse. He really had to start thinking of him on first name terms.

Jesse took off his hat and placed it carefully on the seat he'd just slid across, covering the image of a flying crane woven into the upholstery. He ran his fingers through his hair to loosen it before he leaned back, his elbow propped atop the cushioned booth back and his hand dangling loosely so very close to Hanzo's shoulder.

"She's not half bad," Jesse said near Hanzo's ear, indicating the brown-haired girl who was singing a current dance-pop hit to her friends as she swayed behind the karaoke holo-screen, not even needing to watch the lyrics as they scrolled by. Hanzo nodded briefly, grudgingly acknowledging that his companion was accurate in his judgment. He hadn't really been paying attention. The physicality of the man next to him was too distracting. He could feel Jesse's warmth, smell the smoke and the whiskey and the spicy scent he wore.

Hanzo drained his cup again. The sake was surprisingly very good, or perhaps he was just that thirsty. His flask was down by a third, and Jesse was nearly done with his scotch. The barmaid must have noticed, because she slipped up to the table just as he was about to raise his right arm to flag her down.

"Another drink, sir?" she asked Jesse.

"If you please, miss. The same again."

She turned to Hanzo. "Anything for you, sir?"

"I am fine for now, thank you."

She nodded and faded away from the table again. Hanzo glanced at Jesse, taking in all the details his assassin's training had taught him to notice and remember in a split second. The way Jesse's hair curled slightly around the back of his ears, and how the few days' growth of beard was not all dark like his hair. There was silver interspersed among the brown, practically translucent against the tanned face. And were there freckles over his nose? He willed himself to not look again, but the impulse was too strong. Yes. There were freckles.

Even the sake could not make him forget that Jesse was a colleague first, and a friend second. And this sense of attraction he felt was misplaced and inappropriate, if not outright unwanted. Hanzo sighed softly, unable to control his reactions, and once more disappointed in that fact.

Another twenty-something was on the stage, attempting to perform what sounded like one of Lúcio's latest hits. He was not nearly as successful at navigating the wordplay and melodic pathways as the Lúcio himself was, but it was apparently very amusing to the group at the front tables.

The server appeared once more, and traded a fresh glass for Jesse's empty one, and placed a steaming plate of flat cakes that almost appeared to be made from battered wood shavings.

"From the lady at the bar," the barmaid said, indicating the general direction of the benefactor with a tilt of her head.

"Okonomiyaki..." breathed Hanzo as he inhaled the fragrance that took him sharply back to the markets of Hanamura. They were his favorite treat from the food stands as a boy, shredded vegetables battered and then fried and served with both sweet and spicy sauces. He turned to see who had sent them over, not sure who to expect. It could not be his brother. Genji was away in Nepal with another team.

"Tracer?" She waved when they made eye contact, then giggled and whispered something to the redhead next to her. Hanzo turned back to Jesse. "Is this your 'source'?"

"Could be," Jesse drawled, his accent always more obvious when he was trying to act mysterious. He sat forward and lifted one of the round cakes from the plate, ignoring the chopsticks that had been provided. He took a hearty bite, and when he took the okonomiyaki away from his face as he chewed, Hanzo could see the sauce smeared on the tip of his nose and across his upper lip. Jesse reached for a napkin.

Unable to entirely suppress a smile, Hanzo picked up a set of chopsticks and devoured a cake in a much tidier and efficient manner.

"Sooo delicious," he said. "I have not had okonomiyaki in far too long." Looking back over to where another of his gracious colleagues sat at the bar with her girlfriend, he raised his hand to salute her generosity. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up signal. When he returned his attention to his own table and the food and wine before him, Hanzo was surprised to see Jesse sliding away from him, back around the booth, to slip out the other side.

"Back in a couple," Jesse told him. "I need to show these young rowdies a thing or two about performing."

The room was warm, and Hanzo was feeling the effects of the alcohol as it gradually stripped away his ability to focus. He watched as Jesse leaned over the karaoke machine, pushing its buttons as he flipped through the menus. Then the cowboy took the mic, and the sound of a twangy guitar came from the speakers, competing with the sounds of the other bar patrons' conversations. Hanzo tried to form the sounds Jesse was singing into words, but the first few lines were incomprehensible. The noise of the bar faded as more folks turned their attention to the surprisingly arresting voice coming from the stage, and as it did, the lyrics became intelligible.

"...doin' things that you don't understand," Jesse sang, his hat tipped down over his eyes. "But if you love him, you'll forgive him, even though he's hard to understand. And if you love him, oh, be proud of him, oh be proud of him 'cause after all, he's just a man..." In the pause of the phrasing, he raised his head, and the light glanced off his eyes as he looked up at Hanzo. Then he went big for the chorus, belting it out.

"Stand by your man...give him two arms to cling to..." Jesse spun around on the balls of his feet and grabbed the mic again as the room cheered for him. "And somethin' warm to come to, when nights are cold and lonely..."

Hanzo was hypnotized. Was Jesse singing for him? It felt like it, but surely...surely that was an illusion. He had always been a performer, playing the cowboy to perfection. What was real and what was the game? A familiar voice cheering broke through the rest of the hubbub. Hanzo turned his head, having forgotten briefly that Tracer was at the bar. She saw him look her way and gave him a thumbs' up sign and an exaggerated wink. He dipped his head automatically in acknowledgement but felt his cheeks flush, and turned back to watch the stage, trying to ignore Tracer's gaze.

"Stand by your man..." Another cheer went up in the bar. "...and show the world you love him. Keep giving allllll the love you can..." Jesse did another spin, taking his hat off as he did so, and suavely finished the song. "Stand by...your man...thank you, thank you very much. Thank you," he said to the applause, and bowed graciously. "I'm just a humble cowboy, with a feelin' for some classic tunes. Thank you." With this, he slipped off the stage and made his way back across the room to their table, through the arms that reached out to pat him and shake his hand.

He slipped back into their booth, resuming his place at Hanzo's side. "I feel better now that I got that out of my system," he said.

"That was a compelling performance," Hanzo said.

"Be careful, I might think you liked it," replied Jesse. "If you keep getting all emotional like that."

Hanzo turned sharply to peer at his companion's face. He was rewarded with Jesse's familiar lopsided grin and twinkling eyes. Jesse's nose even scrunched up slightly with amusement at Hanzo's reaction to his gentle ribbing.

The assassin, so able to regulate his physical state when in a combat situation, was at a complete loss. "I..." began Hanzo. He was uncertain how to finish, so he turned away, reflexively taking the last sip of his sake. "This is good," he ended, lamely. The room was beginning to feel a little swirly, and he knew it was only partly due to the wine.

"The sake? Or the evening?" Jesse's voice turned gentle, soft but somehow still audible amongst the tumble of voices around them.  
Hanzo forced himself to make eye contact.

"Yes," he replied, feeling awkward and shy and fighting the rage reaction that always showed up when he faced an uncomfortable situation. But for once, Jesse's hopeful expression seemed to be completely genuine, and Hanzo's internal anger melted in its light. "Yes, both," he said.

Jesse smiled, but didn't speak for a moment. He peered into his glass, feigning disappointment at its emptiness. "I seem to have finished my drink again. Another round before we go?"

Hanzo nodded. He looked over at the bar, and as the bartender pulled down a bottle to pour out a drink, the label caught his eye. Japanese whisky? It had been many years since he had last tried it, perhaps it would be worth tasting again. Perhaps his tastes had changed. He glanced over at the cowboy beside him. Yes, it was quite possible his tastes had changed.

The server had seen Jesse's signal and appeared at the side of the table. "Can I get you something else?"

Hanzo spoke first. "I would like a glass of Hibiki, please. Ice, no water." The server nodded and looked expectantly at Jesse, who was watching his friend with some surprise.

"Oh!" Jesse exclaimed, realizing they were waiting for him to speak, "I say, I'll have what he's having. Why not?" The server nodded again, and turned towards the bar, her long black hair swishing slightly as she moved.

"Whisky?" Jesse asked. "I thought you didn't like whisky."

Hanzo almost looked sheepish. "It is not my favorite, but occasionally I need to remind myself why that is." His eyes narrowed and his expression took on a hint of the steeliness that Jesse saw regularly in the field. The cowboy correctly read this as a warning not to tease, and for once he heeded it, and simply raised an eyebrow.

The karaoke machine started up again, as another patron decided to strut their stuff on the stage. McCree was a little disappointed that it was now too loud to carry on a conversation, but he realized that all the questions he wanted to ask and all the stories he wanted to share might come out a little too rapid fire and overwhelm the more reticent and self-contained Hanzo. After a couple of whiskies, it was quickly getting difficult to restrain his exuberance.  
Just as the song ended, the server returned with her tray, and placed their drinks in front of them.

"Cheers," said Jesse as he raised his glass to Hanzo.

Hanzo raised his glass in return, and took substantially more than a sip. It burned going down, but in the wake of the fire, there were hints of fruit and honey. At last, he was beginning to feel warm and relaxed. He took another sip.

"What do you think?" Jesse asked. He had tried not to stare as his companion downed three quarters of a drink he professed to dislike.

Their eyes met. "It is satisfactory," Hanzo said, still unable to drop the facade of formality. He died a little inside as it reminded him that he never let anyone get close enough to touch who he was beneath its shield. He hadn't reckoned with Jesse McCree, though, and his crooked grin.

The gunslinger swirled the whisky around in his glass, letting the ice melt just a bit before he took a swallow. He nodded. "Not bad. Good call, friend." He thought he could sense Hanzo relax just a bit, and started to introduce one of his favorite stories from the first incarnation of Overwatch.

"Say, did I ever tell you about the time..." he began, and then the music started up again, effectively drowning him out. Jesse sighed, giving up. He leaned closer to Hanzo's ear and said in a louder voice, "You know what? Let's finish this and get out of here. It's too loud."

"Good idea," replied Hanzo. "It is also getting quite warm."

Jesse grinned. He suspected that was the booze talking. He waved at the server again, and then tossed back the last of his third whisky, thinking how the Japanese single malt was so much like Hanzo himself: unexpected from the start, all fire at first approach, then surprisingly complex and subtle behind the fire.

As for Hanzo, he knew he had consumed his drink too quickly. It was already hitting him harder than he'd planned for, and now he would have to concentrate to keep from appearing intoxicated in front of the man he was hoping to impress. But on the other hand, it was also beginning to amplify some of the good feelings he was having about the evening.

And then they were stepping out into the street. What had been a velvety twilight an hour before was turning bright and sparkling. It had begun to snow, and the falling flakes caught and reflected the glow of the streetlights, turning the air to glitter. All the protective veneer fell away from Hanzo's expression as he smiled at the wonder of it.

"It's snowing!" he breathed, lifting his face to let the crystals cool the heat in his cheeks. Jesse was stricken mute, not by the weather, but by the change in his companion. They started walking back towards the safe house, the feathery snowflakes fluttering down around them.

Suddenly Hanzo started telling Jesse a story about one winter's snowfall when he was a boy in Hanamura, and the cowboy was hypnotized. This man at his side was usually so gruff, so reserved, so apparently burdened by life itself that more than one of their colleagues found him unbearable. Jesse might have agreed but for a few chance phrases Hanzo had let slip that suggested there was a lot more to him than what most people saw. Now it was like the sun had come out from behind a cloud, and Jesse felt the warmth that had been hidden. He drank it in like he'd been lost in the shadows for years. Perhaps he had.

They were nearly back to the house when Hanzo bumped into Jesse, his limbs loosened in his intoxication. "Whoa, there," said Jesse, catching his friend by the shoulder to steady him.

Hanzo turned his face up towards Jesse's, still unguarded and trusting. "I'm sorry, did I stumble?" They had stopped beneath a streetlight, the snow drifting down around them. Jesse's hand was still on Hanzo's shoulder, and Hanzo had not tried to evade his touch. Hanzo, with snowflakes decorating his sleek, dark hair. Jesse's heart pounded in his ears. His eyes were drawn to Hanzo's mouth, as though he was taking aim.

The moment had a clarity to it that not even the whisky could blur. Hanzo felt the energy between them. The gentle pressure of Jesse's hand, the flutter of his eyelashes as his grey eyes looked from Hanzo's mouth to his own brown eyes--it was all part of a pattern he had lived before, but so long ago that this could have been the first time. His lips parted slightly, instinctively, and the cowboy rightly interpreted it as a sign. Jesse leaned closer, hesitantly. Hanzo lifted his chin.

For Jesse, it was like time went into slow motion. He could feel Hanzo's warm breath on his skin like a caress, like an invitation. He wanted to breathe in the sweetness forever. The world around him crystallized: the golden aura of the streetlamp, the sparkling of the snow-filled air, and then, like a revelation, the heat and softness of Hanzo's lips against his own. The universe shattered and reformed in an instant.

The kiss was brief, but they continued to stand there, so close the air between them was warmed by their bodies but only in contact where Jesse's hand remained on Hanzo's shoulder. The sounds of other evening revelers approaching caused Hanzo to stir at last.

"We should go inside," he said. "It is late, and cold."

Jesse slipped his hand across Hanzo's back as they turned back towards their destination, leaving his arm draped over Hanzo's shoulders. "I suppose you're right," he said. He felt Hanzo's arm wrap up over his own shoulder and he smiled. He wasn't cold at all anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am a little bit of a whisky/whiskey nerd. My apologies. ;)
> 
> "Stand By Your Man" - Billy Sherrill, Tammy Wynette, 1968


End file.
